


that once was singing gold

by ForeignLander



Category: Castle
Genre: 3x01, A Deadly Affair, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 17:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1867005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForeignLander/pseuds/ForeignLander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Three months ago, she would have found it endearing.  Now, it exhausts her.  Makes her tired in ways she doesn’t understand."  An AU for 3x01.</p>
            </blockquote>





	that once was singing gold

She strides across the bullpen and he’s nipping at her heels, always eager, the excitement of a new case making him frantic.

Three months ago, she would have found it endearing.  Now, it exhausts her.  Makes her tired in ways she doesn’t understand. 

He’s saying something about already being involved and she can feel his presence at her back. It’s overwhelming. He’s been back for all of twenty minutes and she’s already suffocating.  It’s too much, and she just _can’t_ anymore.

She spins sharply to face him and doesn’t give herself time to second-guess what she’s about to say.

“Castle, go home. Go back to your Hamptons, your ex-wife, your book parties.  Ok? I’ve got work to do.”

Her voice breaks somewhere around “ex-wife” and “book parties” and god _damn_ him.  How does he manage to waltz right back into her life like this summer didn’t even happen? Like he didn’t walk away from her, arm in arm with his ex-wife, while she picked up the pieces of herself that he left behind.  Again.

Before he can decipher what she knows to be shining in her eyes, she turns away.  She thinks she hears him say something along the lines of “What did I do?” but she’s already retreating.  Back to her desk.  Back to herself.  Back to twenty minutes ago when she could at least fool herself into thinking that having him in her life didn’t matter so damn much.

* * *

When they find him with a dead body for the second time in two days, she let’s Ryan and Esposito handle the arrest and interrogation.  She busies herself with paperwork and as they’re wrapping up, she makes an unnecessary trip down to archives.  She gives the guard faulty information and waits as he goes to find something that isn’t there.  By the time he comes back to tell her he couldn’t find what she was looking for, it’s been ten minutes.  Thanking him, she leaves and takes the stairs back up to homicide. 

When she peeks around the corner, he’s gone.

Maybe now she can pretend like he was never there.

* * *

Hours later, when she steps off the elevator and finds him at her door, she’s _pissed_.  She stops farther from him than she would have those few short months ago, the physical distance between them a poor substitute for the emotional distance she so desperately craves.

“Castle, what the hell are you doing here?”  It’s harsher than she intended and she can tell he wasn’t expecting it by the furrowing of his brow and the fact that he doesn’t approach her.

When he doesn’t answer immediately, she pulls her keys from her pocket and moves around him to unlock the door.  Naturally, she fumbles them and he reaches to catch them as she does.  When their hands brush, the clang of the keys against the wood reverberates loudly in the tense silence and she breaks.

Forcing the key into the lock, she opens the door and turns to face him, blocks the threshold with her body.  One hand on the door, the other on the opposite side of the frame, she stiffens her stance, ready for a fight.  When she looks up at him, his eyes sparkle and something in her throat catches.  She can see both the smile and the question in them and _damn it, Kate, get your shit together_. They’re just eyes. Stupidly blue, gorgeous eyes that are not allowed to affect her like this anymore.  She has to look away and slowly pushes out a breath that feels like it’s been trapped inside her for a while now. Eyes to the floor, she can’t see anything except for the tops of his shoes, but she hears him breathe as if he’s going to say something.  And she can’t handle this anymore.  Before he can speak, she cuts him off.

“I meant what I said before.” She looks up and tries to meet his eyes again, but ends up focusing somewhere above his left eyebrow. “This,” she says, gesturing with a flick of her hand between them, “is done.  The book research, the ride-alongs, you’ve had your fun. And now,” she pauses, looking him directly in the eye to make her point perfectly clear, “you need to leave.”

Reaching behind her to grasp the edge of the door, she’s half-way to closing it in his face when his palm connects with her wrist, stopping the motion.

“Wait.”

She knows he registers the fury burning in her eyes because he removes his hand at once and lets it settle on the door instead.

“Castle. Let go.”  She speaks deliberately.  He’s a writer.  He should understand it’s not just the door she’s talking about.

His face falls slightly, but there’s more confusion than anything else written across the furrow of his brow.  She watches him search her eyes for more information and she feels naked.  He’s always been able to read her, but now she’s not giving anything away.  She doesn’t think so, anyway.  Hard to tell with him.  Always hard with him.

He doesn’t seem to find whatever answer he was looking for because instead of the earlier confusion, now there’s only determination reflected back at her. 

“No.”

Her neck tenses and her shoulders pinch together at the top of her spine.  He wants to fight?  She’s ready for a fight.  She’ll do whatever she has to get him out of her life. Out of her mind. Out of her heart, if she’s being honest with herself.

Her only response is to step further behind the door and put more force into closing it.

She can tell he’s shocked at her actions, but he just braces himself against the frame and keeps the door wedged open with the breadth of his body.  She notices with more than a little bitterness that their positions are reversed now, only she blocked the doorway to keep him out, and he’s there now trying to keep her in.  They’re both acting like petulant children, but she can’t be bothered to care.

Even with all of her strength behind it, the door won’t close.  Giving up on trying to force him out, she tries a different tactic. She runs both hands upwards over her face, grips two handfuls of hair, and then crosses her arms. She’s trying to show him that she’s exasperated.  She pretends that she doesn’t recognize it for what it is: a self-preservation tactic.

“Castle, I’m tired. I’m hungry.  I want to go to sleep.  And I want you to leave.”

“That’s bullshit.”

She didn’t expect him to call her out like that, but she’s ready to strike back.  A bitter laugh somehow forces its way through her hurt, and by the way his shoulders fall, she can tell she’s hit a nerve. Good.  Game on.

“Rick Castle. Mind reader extraordinaire,” she says mockingly, in a fake voice that cadences just below her own.

“Tell me, Castle, what am I thinking now?”  She closes her eyes tightly and puts two fingers to each temple.  She pretends to mull it over for a moment, then abruptly drops the act and looks directly at him. 

“I’m thinking you don’t know when to quit.  You don’t know what I want.  And, based on the fact that you’re still here, you certainly don’t know _me_.”

Oh, that pissed him off. He drops his arms and moves inside her apartment, the door slamming behind him.  She doesn’t realize that he’s backed her into the kitchen until they’re already there.  He’s a strong physical presence normally, but now, angry and hurt and confused, he’s imposing.  If she didn’t know that he’s not a threat to her, she might be afraid.

“Ok, you’re mad at me. I get that.  But you can’t just tell me you don’t want me around anymore and expect me to go quietly.”

He’s seething now; he practically vibrates with his anger.  Kate simmers, low and menacing, but angry just the same. Another way they’re different. Another reason they don’t work.

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” she spits, and he’s not having any of it.

“The hell you don’t. We’ve worked together for two years and suddenly you just _decide_? We’re partners, Beckett. You don’t get to make that decision on your own.”

“We are not partners, Castle.”  As much as she believes that how, has trained herself to believe it, it still catches in that vulnerable place at the base of her throat.  She can’t stop now, though.  She wants him to leave and this is the only way she knows how, the one method that’s tried and true.

“You’re a writer, not a cop,” she says.  “You got what you needed for a few books and you left.  That was your choice.  And this is mine.”

She wants him to be so angry that he storms out, but now he’s taken a page from her book. He’s not energized by his anger anymore.  He looks dangerous, sounds dangerous.

“Fine. I’ll go.  But not until you tell me why.”

She can’t. That’s what this is about. She does damage from afar so that he won’t get too close anymore.  Too close to hurt her.  Again.

She wants to look away from him, but as much hatred, pain, and confusion as they’re sending at her right now, his eyes captivate her.  They’re undoing her and she can’t break the connection. The ache she feels at knowing that this is the last version of him she’s going to see radiates all the way from her chest to her fingers.  She wants to grab him, she wants to shove him, but he steps even closer and continues.

“I get that I messed with your mom’s case and I apologized for that.  I know I’m not a cop – as you’ve so kindly pointed out – and I know I’m not always professional.  But this works.  _We_ work.”

That seems to give him pause.  Some of the tension in his jaw releases and when he speaks again, he sounds more confused than anything else. 

“Well, we did,” he continues.  “What happened?”

She absolutely cannot let him see the way this unravels her.  Dulling and masking the ache of tears in her throat, she nearly shouts at him. 

“What happened?” Oh, God.  What she intended to be near yelling ends up being more of a squeaky yip and she hates herself for it.  He doesn’t seem to notice though, staring though he is with surprised eyes getting wider as she goes.

“You left, Castle! We solved a murder and we were having beers in the break room and you just left with your ex-wife for a surprise summer in the Hamptons.  You never called.”  She’s losing control; can’t mask it as well as she thought, but she has to get it out.

“How was I supposed to know you were even planning on coming back?”  To her own ears, it’s weak and sad and so pathetic. He must not realize, under the façade of her anger, how badly this hurts her.

“You knew I was going to the Hamptons.  Hell, I invited _you_ to come to the Hamptons, Kate.”

“That’s not what this is about, Castle.”  _Jesus.  Convincing much, Kate?_

As usual, he’s not buying her bullshit.  About four months ago, she was starting to appreciate that about him.  Now, well, she won’t have to worry about that much longer, will she?

“Then what is this about? Because I think that is _exactly_ what this is about.” His spine is straightening and she can tell that he’s realizing her anger isn’t strictly for his professional incompetence.  Fuck. She can’t let this get out of her control.

“Castle, I d-“

“You made it perfectly clear that you weren’t going to accept any one of my many invitations. And it’s not like you needed me there to help with the case with Demming being so helpful.”  His head tilts upward and she can tell by the way he’s posturing that what he’s about to say is going to pack a punch.

“How was that by the way?  You two do anything special for Memorial Day?“ 

Knockout number one for Castle.  She might have had a comeback, but he’s mocking her now and she can’t think through the haze of her emotions.

“You’re an ass, you know that?”  It comes out a little less venomous than she wanted.  More defeated.

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us,” he throws back.

She’s trying to make him angry enough that he’ll leave and she knows she deserves it, but that doesn’t mean she likes hearing it.  Instead of talking – _I wanted to go with you, I broke up with Tom for you, I wanted to be with you_ – she hides, braces herself and goes for it.  She wants this to end, for him to leave so she can mend.

“And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?” she asks, stepping in, stretching onto her toes just slightly to gain leverage.

“I ask you to the Hamptons and then you parade around with Demming?  I got the message, Beckett.”

Neither one of them is pulling punches and it’s awful, but Kate finds it to be oddly satisfying.

“Oh, and that’s so different from you extending that same invitation to me and then walking out of the precinct with your ex-wife on your arm?”

“You said you didn’t want to go so I invited someone else.”  He’s indignant now and she can feel each heaving, hot exhale on her face. If they weren’t in this scenario, she would probably be more than a bit turned on.  Hell, she’s turned on now and this is so fucked up.  Why did she have to take him back the first time?  She should have never told him _see you tomorrow._   She should have let him deal with the guilt of his betrayal and then she wouldn’t be in this position.  She’s heartbroken even though she’s told herself time and time again that she’s _not._  And she’s mad.  She is so fucking angry and _damn it_ , her vocal chords are going to rip with the tension of trying to hold back her tears – of frustration or sadness, she’s not entirely sure – and she will _not_ cry in front of him. But she’s got nothing left.

“I broke up with Demming to go the Hamptons with _you_!”

Her voice breaks on the “you” and that might be the most pathetic, embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to her.

The fact that she revealed that to him is probably the second.  Kate Beckett doesn’t embarrass easily, but she can feel her neck start to heat with blush.  Castle is still staring at her, but it’s different now.  They are so close together, nearly nose to nose, so focused on one another that his eyes flit back and forth between both of hers. First to one, and then the other, like he can’t decide which one will reveal more of her secrets.

His heaving breaths have tapered to small, sporadic pants he’s taking through his nose. He blinks a few times, his brow furrows, and she swears he shrinks a few inches.

“What?” He seems genuinely confused and if he’s screwing with her, if he’s making fun of her, she’s going to fucking slap him.

“Beckett. Kate, is that true?” His hands are no longer rigid, clenched fists at his sides.  They’re gently cupped around her upper arms.  Not trapping her, but grounding her like he knows exactly what she needs. It’s too much to have him, but not _have_ him and she just needs this to end.  She has to step back. Out.  Away.

She tries, but he won’t let her go.  His hands trail down her arms to rest under her elbows and she’s pretty much willing to beg at this point so long as this ends.

“Please can we…just please leave Castle.  Go home.”

What happened to the simmering fury of a few moments ago?  They’re quiet now, she in desolation, he in confusion.

“Kate.”

He sounds so dejected and how is that fair?  He broke her heart, not the other way around.  She tries to find her anger again, to resurrect it and end them both. But she can’t.

Finally, whether by her pull or his release, she’s free from his grasp.  As free as she can ever be, she supposes. She backs away and drops her gaze to the floor because for some reason, she can’t say this to his face.

“Castle, it’s fine, really. I overreacted.  I’m just tired.  Just…please.  It’s fine.  I’ll see you at the precinct tomorrow.”

Sounds a lot like the _see you tomorrow_ that got her here in the first place.  Damn it.

She turns around, not leaving room for him to argue with her.  It started as a lie, but she finds that now she truly is tired. Her bones feel hollow and she just wants to sleep.  Hard and deep.

“Yeah, sure. Ok.  I’ll…”

She can’t see his face, but the pause he takes is pregnant.  It’s tense with meaning that she doesn’t have the energy to decipher and she wonders if he’s going to fight her again.  _I can’t take it, Castle.  Please_.

 “Until tomorrow, Kate.”

At this point, she’s kind of hoping tomorrow never comes.

“’Night, Castle.”

She doesn’t see it, but she hears the door shut behind him. 

* * *

 

Lucky for her, tomorrow comes, but Castle doesn’t.  She and the boys are working a double homicide – not difficult, but draining, tedious – and she’s pretending not to notice his absence when her phone chimes from its place on her desk.

It’s him.

_Won’t be in today.  Unexpected meeting._

Okay. She can do that. Carry on like last night never happened.

She can do that. 

* * *

That night, when there’s a knock at Kate’s door, she expects it to be Lanie.  She hasn’t shared the details of the last several days with the ME, and she’s not sure that she will, but she desperately needs company that will distract her from her own thoughts. 

Lanie’s a bit early, but Kate’s glad for it.  She started on the wine a while ago and there’s an embarrassing amount missing from the bottle for someone who’s trying to project a general sense of having-it-together. She pours some wine into the glass set aside for Lanie on the coffee table, hoping her ever-astute, somewhat nosy friend will think the bottle’s emptiness is related to having been used to fill two glasses instead of, well…

Ignoring that thought, Kate tosses a “Coming!” over her shoulder, sets the bottle down, and walks to answer the door, the soft cotton of her shirt brushing her hips with each step.

With a smile and a “hey,” Kate swings the door open and immediately curses herself for not checking the peephole.  She assumed it would be Lanie, but instead, it’s Castle standing on the other side of the threshold.  She feels a weird sense of familiarity in this position, so much like their conversation yesterday.  If you can even call it a conversation.  Confrontation.  Embarrassment. All of the above.

Kate doesn’t know what to say or do, but somehow a breathless “Castle” escapes her without permission.  Instead of sheepish or cocky, his expression is one she doesn’t think she’s seen on him often, if at all.  If she had to guess, she’d say it’s a mix between anger and…awe?

Kate’s just surprised. More than a bit embarrassed and annoyed.

And if she lets herself acknowledge it – which she does _not_ – a little sad.

Unlike yesterday, Castle’s arms aren’t braced on the frame and he looks smaller, but less uncertain, less lost.  When he speaks, she understands.

“Kate.” He says her name like the thing itself is important instead of merely a preface of what’s to come. “Can I come in?”

Oh. What she thought was anger is something else.  He’s…determined? Determined in a way she’s never seen before.  Usually Castle’s determination manifests like a four-year-old’s determination to convince his parents to buy him a puppy.  It’s hyper and excited and energetic.  _Not adorable, Kate. Not yours_.

This current brand of determination is more serious.  Maybe this is Castle the father, Castle the son?  Suddenly, she’s more concerned than anything else.

“Is everything ok?” she asks, holding the door open and letting him pass.

“No, not really.” She turns back to him after sliding the lock in place and his calm demeanor contrasts the anxiety she’s starting to feel at his words.

“What’s the matter? Is it Alexis?”

He looks genuinely surprised at that.

“No, it’s not Alexis,” he says.  If she weren’t a bit worried, she would be annoyed at him beating around the bush. _Such a writer_.   She feels a twinge at that.  _Not your writer, Kate_.

“Martha?” she asks. She’s grasping at straws here, but if he doesn’t tell her what’s going on soon she’s going to resort to ear twisting.

“Were you serious yesterday?” he asks and she has to readjust because this is no not where she thought he was headed with this.  He’s staring at her again, the eye-switch thing and it makes her feel open. Naked, vulnerable, embarrassed, uncomfortable. Defensive.  Take your pick.

“Castle, leave it. It’s done.”  She leans against her counter and she can feel her shoulders rolling forward, collapsing.  She crosses her arms and hopes he doesn’t notice.

He does.

“No,” he says. His tone’s not gentle, not aggressive either, and she doesn’t know what to make of it.

Unlike yesterday, she’s not angry.  She’s frustrated. She just feels spent.

“Castle, if you came here to pick a fight, you can leave.”  Uncrossing her arms, she turns and busies herself at the sink, washing dishes that are already clean and drying so she doesn’t have to face him. “Lanie will be here soon, anyway.“

“Text her and cancel.”

She knows he’ll have no problem reading her face now.  She turns to glare at him over her shoulder and sees him typing on his phone.

He wouldn’t.

“What are you doing?“ She tries for menacing, but misses.  She would go see for herself, but her hands are soapy and where the hell did she put the towel?

“Never mind. Taken care of.” He’s not smiling and she’s not either. Giving up on searching for a towel, she swipes her hands across her jeans and walks the few steps it takes until she’s directly in front of him. 

“What the fuck is your problem?”  She’s in his personal space and she’s trying to intimidate him, but he’s doing that damn earnest, calming face thing and it’s working.  Damn.

“Just listen to me for a minute.  I know I’ve been an ass, but just hear me out.”  He holds his hands palms down in a placating gesture and she’s annoyed that he knows her so well, can play her so well.  Annoyed at him and herself.

“Hear you out? Are you serious right now?”

“I broke up with Gina.”

Kate is dumbstruck. This whole situation is so completely ridiculous.  After everything that happened in the last twenty-four hours, he doesn’t show up at the precinct all day.  Instead, he shows up at her door and cancels her plans and she’s _pissed_. But he broke up with Gina and she is so confused that she feels like she hasn’t touched ground since she opened her door to find this unreadable man staring back at her.

Castle must sense that her moment of shock is his moment to strike and he continues without a response from her.

“I wanted it to be you in the Hamptons with me this summer, Kate.  I wanted you to be the one leaving the precinct with me. I wanted _you_.” 

It takes her breath away, his confession, and she knows he can tell.  He’s intense, his eyes beseeching and boring into hers, but she refuses to jump to conclusions.  She scarcely moves, just keeps staring at him, wide eyed with a chasm in her chest.  She has no idea what to make of this or where he is going, but she feels a lightness settle over her at his words.  There’s an ache, yes, but now it’s comforting.  Anticipatory.  Like her body knows something her brain doesn’t. 

He doesn’t seem to register her moment of…what it is exactly, she really can’t say. He’s on a roll: a peace mission or a warpath, she’s not sure, but she needs to know.  She needs resolution.

“But you had Demming,” he says.  He’s antsy now, fidgety in her kitchen with hands that never still, but he continues. “I was jealous and I was an ass, but you made it clear that your personal life was none of my business.” He takes a pause and she hadn’t even noticed that his eyes had strayed until they lock into hers again. If she thought she was breathless before, it’s nothing compared to this.  The things he’s not quite saying are written there for her to see and she feels it in her toes, the ache.  It radiates through all of her being, but she won’t quell it. She craves it. _Keep going, Castle._

“So I moved on,” he says, calm now.  Not quite a whisper.  Almost. “I asked Gina to come with me instead. It wasn’t right. We spent all summer at each other’s throats and I wished it were _us_ spending all summer at each other’s throats.”  For the first time since he stepped into her apartment, the determined man gives way to the playful one she knows. It breaks her and mends her at once.

Still, she hurts. It hurts her now as it hurt her then to know that the only reasons she wasn’t with him that summer were her own stubbornness and their affinity for bad timing.  She wants to tell him, but she doesn’t know what to say.  _I wished it were us, too.  I want it to be us now.  I want_ us _._

“Castle, I-“

“Let me finish.” She’s surprised that he cuts her off, but isn’t that what they’ve been doing all this time?  Each cutting the other off before either of them can say what they really feel?

“You’re angry and hurt and I get that, but I’m not the only one at fault here.”  He steps closer, into her space.  Instead of suffocated or threatened, she feels ready. He doesn’t touch her. Yet.  She needs that final push.  Needs him to be the one to do it.  _Come on, Castle_.

“You rejected me again and again.  I don’t mind waiting, but wasn’t going to wait if it meant having to watch you be with Demming.”

She wishes she could take it back.  She tried, at the very last moment, but she was too late and it looks like it hurt them both more than a little.  She doesn’t regret it, this thing that led them to this.  Not with him here, in her space, her life, her heart, so close to where they both want to be.  And isn’t this how they’ve always done it?  Teetering on the edge of something but never falling, never _jumping_.

She takes a step into him. They’re closer than they’ve ever been, she thinks.  So close that their knees brush, their feet somehow intermeshed.  But they’re not close enough.  She wants to kiss him.  God, she’s wanted to kiss that stupid mouth for longer than she’d like to admit.  But she needs to say something first, something they both deserve, so she allows herself two palms at his chest.  Resting against the softness of his shirt where she can feel his heartbeat underneath.

His hands rise to meet her waist and she wants to fall into him.  Feels like she already is.  But she needs to be able to look at him to say this. No misunderstandings.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice is stronger than she feels and she’s grateful for it.  Her strength has torn them apart before, but he deserves to have it now.

His eyes soften and he’s looking at her in a way that makes her feel less and more at the same time.  Not smiling, but not frowning either.  He shakes his head and for a second she thinks he’s going to push her away.

His hands flex tightly on her waist and they’re so close to all the places she’s dreamed about that she has to stop her traitorous body from closing the distance between them and finally, _finally_ , taking what she wants.

“I wanted you then and I want you now,” he says and she thinks he’s going to kiss her. He leans forward and it’s not their mouths that kiss, but their foreheads.  “I want to be with you, Kate.  Just you.”

She has him and he might not know it yet, but he has her.  They’re on the edge of this thing and all that’s left to do is _go_.  Their noses are brushing now.  She can feel him breathing against her and she breathes with him.  Both breathing life into this thing that only a few hours ago was close to being gone for good.

One of her hands somehow managed to move past his shirt and into the warm, vulnerable place between his collarbone and neck.  Another step.  His pulse is beating under both hands now and it’s overwhelming, too much.  Words are his thing.  She’s never been good with them and she just wants to kiss him. Say with her lips, with her body, what she can’t say otherwise.  But she owes him, this man, who is so adept at reading between the lines. Reading her.  So she compromises.

She trails her hands slowly upwards until they rest along his nape.  One at the base and the other above, fingers tangling in soft hairs she finds there.  The hands resting on her waist have been traded for a pair of arms that pull her in. There is no space between them now and if it were anyone else holding her this way, she would feel trapped. But it’s not anyone else, is it?

She tightens her grip and he falls further into her, so their lips are brushing.  It sends warmth flooding through her body, eradicating the ache.  Slowly. Too slowly.  It’s pleasure and pain and she craves it. She craves _him_.  Before she gives in, she savors it, gives him what he deserves, what he’s always given her.

“Me, too, Castle,” she says, hyperaware of the movement of her lips as they’re brushing against his. “I want us.”

He breathes.

She speaks again. For him.

“I want us.”

She jumps.

**Author's Note:**

> A non-kink meme fill. Surprising, I know. This was written almost exactly a year ago and I've finally said screw it, so here it is. Hope you enjoy.


End file.
